


Happy Beginnings

by MarieQuiteContrarie (SeaStar1330)



Series: Happy Beginnings [2]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Character Study, Comfort, Episode: s06e21-s06e22 The Final Battle, F/M, Family Feels, Fluff, Fluff Family, Gold Family, Happily Ever After, Happy Beginning, Happy Ending, Post-Finale, Rumbelle - Freeform, Smut, papafire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-08
Updated: 2017-06-08
Packaged: 2018-11-10 20:54:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11134518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeaStar1330/pseuds/MarieQuiteContrarie
Summary: In the aftermath of the OUAT Season 6 finale, The Final Battle, Belle and Rumple bring baby Gideon home and celebrate the second chance to raise their baby and be a happy family. Featuring a nursery, reunion smut, fluff, and a visit from Baelfire.2018 TEA WINNER - FLUFF/COMFORT AND FLUFF/REUNION





	Happy Beginnings

**Author's Note:**

> Hi friends. Here's a post-finale fic I’ve been mulling over for a while. Took me some time to collect my emotions, but here it is. Would love your thoughts and comments.
> 
> Tremendous thanks to Maplesyrup for being an extraordinary beta on this story and to Moonlight91 for the beautiful art!

__  


_"Beginning…_  
Just let that word wash over you  
It's all right now  
Love's healing hands have pulled you through  
So get back up, take step one  
Leave the darkness, feel the sun  
'Cause your story's far from over  
And your journey's just begun.”

 

Their family is going home.

Belle leans against the soft leather passenger seat of the Cadillac, cradling Gideon against her ribs. He lifts a dimpled hand, reaching for a fistful of her hair. Lips parted, she marvels at the perfection of those tiny, pink fingers. “Ouch.” Gingerly, she unwraps auburn strands from around his wrist. Perhaps it would be best to switch to ponytails and braids for a while.

“Our son has a strong grip,” Rumple says, his voice choked with paternal pride.

“Yes.” Belle whispers, mesmerized by the image of Gideon being lulled to sleep by the motion of the car, his breathy coos turning into hums as he drifted off. Was it last evening or the one before, when she was glancing at him in the rearview mirror, a lanky young man draped over the back half of the car? Now he’s a bitty thing, cozy and bundled in Belle’s arms for the short ride home.

She moves her starving gaze over Rumple’s face and back to Gideon, unable to bear letting either one of her loves out of her sight for a single moment.

And she hasn’t. Not since a precious, mewling cry echoed through the mines and they staggered, holding each other up, toward a familiar wicker basket.

Toward the sound of second chances.

Gideon. Wearing the same tiny cream hat, snuggled in the same basket Blue had carried him away in, with Belle’s well-loved copy of _Her Handsome Hero_ tucked into the side. Trembling, she lifted the baby and teetered into Rumplestiltskin’s arms, emotion and her twisted ankle leaving her body weak and raw. They pressed their foreheads together and cradled their son between them, taking turns inhaling the indescribable sweetness of his skin and pressing kisses against his downy softness.

She gripped Rumple’s hand and he led her back to the rock she had perched on after she sprained her ankle, Gideon wedged between her arm and the curve of her breast. Rumple crouched at her feet, and when she nodded in response to the question in his eyes, his deft fingers moved over her bones, assessing the injury, healing her. A warm glow spread over her leg, and she shivered when he kneaded her swollen flesh. His gentle touch both soothed and inflamed, and a feverish sensation unfurled beneath her skin, making her anxious to be home.

Belle blushes, keenly aware of the strength and appeal of the man seated at her side in the car. The months since they last made love bleed together, and she burns for an intimacy beyond the chaste embraces they have shared since Gideon’s surprise arrival from the Dark Realm.

Rumple’s hands shake on the steering wheel as he drives, his eyes drifting off the road, always returning to Gideon, as though he fears their baby could disappear again at any moment. A whimper of regret passes her lips. Tonight is Rumple’s first time laying eyes on their son.

“He looks…he’s exactly the same, Rumple.” She speaks around the lump in her throat, reassuring them both. “Like the moment he was born.”

Belle shoves away her cursed thoughts, blocking out the false memory of their baby being wrested from her arms and given to a stranger. That... _woman_ made her afraid to leave her own house. Far worse, somehow, were the damaging lies she fabricated to make Rumple and Gideon believe she left them behind to travel the world. Fiona took Belle’s place as doting mama, dangling oatmeal cookies and promises in front of _her_ family, playing her for a total fool. A fresh wave of jealous anger surges through her, and Belle bites her lip hard enough to draw blood.

 _It’s not real, it’s not true._ A misty rain begins to fall, and  Belle sweeps lies from her mind the way the wiper blades sweep raindrops off the windshield. She forces herself to take deep breaths, keeping her gaze fixed on the two people in the world who matter most.

Everything real and true in her life is right here in this car.

A chill runs up Belle’s spine, guilt sparring with relief at Fiona’s demise. Poor Rumple, driven to kill his own mother. It is demented—the idea that a child must defend himself and his loved ones against his parents. But she should know by now: her Rumplestiltskin is stronger than even she first believed, and there is no line he won’t cross to protect her and their children.  

“She can’t hurt us anymore, sweetheart. I promise.”

Rumple is watching her, his brow furrowed in concern. He brushes his finger across her bruised lip, and Belle’s heart breaks open and floods with love. Always attuned to her thoughts and feelings, he possesses a sensitivity that astounds her.

“My mother hid you away because she was afraid of you; she feared your light,” he says, his tone firm yet gentle. “All of this—from playing the part of Morpheus to enacting this terrible curse—was her doing, not yours. Don’t let her succeed in tormenting you from the grave.” He grits his teeth. “She’s in the depths of hell where she belongs.”

Nodding, Belle clutches Gideon to her breast and shifts closer to Rumple. She covers his warm, sure hand on the steering wheel with her icy palm, needing the comfort and solace only he can provide. Her chin wobbles as tears burn fresh tracks down her cheeks. Being the harbinger of hope has always been her role in their partnership, but leaning into him through these last twisted, terrible days has been a strange and wonderful freedom. He has been a wellspring of hope, a solution to problems, and she realizes the permission she’s granted him to be himself—both Dark One and Savior—has made all the difference in both his countenance and spirit.

“Do you have any idea how proud  I am of you?” she asks. “The way you fought for this family?”

Even in the dark car, she sees him sit up straighter, chest expanded as though her words of praise are oxygen.

“All you’ve ever asked is for me to put love first,” he says. “I…I know how to do that now. Down in the mines tonight, I fought against the darkness, and I found balance. The power to make good choices was there all the time. I simply needed to believe it. You were right, Belle, and it was your voice I heard telling me not to give up.”

“I’m not as strong and brave as you believe, my love,” she admits, ducking her head in shyness. “I keep pinching myself. I can’t believe it’s real, this gift of starting over.”

“A happy beginning…” He trails off as the headlights flashed across the front door of the house, and kills the ignition.

Lightning cracks, illuminating the car’s dark interior, and she watches his jaw muscle tick with emotion. There is still a question in his voice, just as there was an hour earlier down in the mines.

“Is this...” Wariness creeps into his sable eyes, and he gestures toward the hulking shadow of the pink Victorian. “I should have asked where you wanted to go.”  
  
“Wherever you are,” she answers, shutting down any protests of unworthiness or fear. “You and Gideon are my home. Besides, I’ve been sleeping here for over a week.”

A slow, contented smile spreads across his face at the reminder, and Belle’s pulse trips in response. It will take time and conversation and several sessions with Archie before they are healed and whole. Even then, something will always be lurking in the shadows, threatening to steal their happiness, but how they respond to those challenges going forward is all that matters. Belle smiles to herself; their steps will be slow and unsteady as they find their way back to each other, but love covers a multitude of mistakes.

True love has always been the answer.

Another bolt of lightning chases a rumble of thunder, and Rumple darts around the Cadillac to the passenger side, flicking an umbrella open with his wrist. Belle hands Gideon up into his arms, and they move to the door in a shuffling huddle, two brand-new parents trying to protect a slumbering baby from the rain.

* * *

Rumplestiltskin drums his fingers on the arm of the couch and listens to the rain patter against the roof, trying not to gawk at his wife and son. Belle reclines at the opposite end of the sofa, clucking glorious nonsense at the baby while he drinks down a bottle of formula with greedy pulls. For a brief moment, he relished the slight, warm weight of his son while guiding Belle out of the car, and every fiber of his being cries out to hold them both again. He shifts on the cushion, his damnable nerves plaguing him.

He longs to show Belle what he did upstairs, the changes he’s made in the locked room across the hall, but what if she hates it?

“Come here,” Belle urges, rescuing him from his fretting. She pats the empty upholstery between them with an inviting smile.

Relieved to have some direction, he slides closer, and Belle wriggles toward him until they are pressed together, her warm curves settled against his sharp hip.

Belle places Gideon in his arms and hands him the bottle. “That’s better. Gives me a chance to look at you for a while. My boys. The loves of my life.” Beaming, she pulls out her cell phone and snaps photos of him holding Gideon until his cheeks ache from smiling.

Clutching his son against his heart feels like heaven; little Gideon is warm, sweet, and content. “He hasn’t even cried,” he says in wonder, shifting him to his shoulder and patting his back until he burps. “He’s perfect.”

“It’s incredible, isn’t it?” Belle’s tone is thoughtful as she shows him dozens of pictures. “What we already know? How tall he’s going to be. The exact shade of his hair. The timbre of his voice.” She leans over to kiss the baby’s button nose. “Now we get to see everything in between, watch him grow and change, show him what it means to be part of a loving family.”

He nods, trying to focus on the uncharacteristic wellspring of joy, but unsaid words clog his chest. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there when he was born, Belle. I wanted to hold your hand, to help you through the birth. Do all the things a husband and father should.” He takes a deep breath. “Instead I terrorized you. I was selfish and afraid and I’m sorry…about a great many things.”

“So am I, Rumple. You aren’t the only one who was wrong. All of this pain could have been avoided if we had listened to each other. What you said in the Underworld…it’s true. I do love you—the man and the beast. Someone who fights for those they love, even when it means making impossible choices. I don’t want you to be anyone other than exactly who you are.” She strokes his cheek, hoping her touch will communicate what mere words cannot. “I’m so thankful I have another chance to prove my love and trust to you and to Gideon.”

Gold closes his eyes and rests his head in her palm, astounded by the offer of love and acceptance. He meets her eyes then, recognizing the truth in their clear blue depths. Belle’s gaze is open and honest, no longer shadowed by suspicion and dread of the monster within.

“Because of you—you gave us back our son, Rumple, erased all the terrible things he suffered. And even if we hadn’t been given this miracle, I would still be here. I love you.”

Gideon drains the bottle, and Belle takes it from his grip, filling his open palm with her hand.

“Now, let’s enjoy our son’s birthday,” she suggests brightly. “It’s a party for three.” Gideon grunts as if in agreement, then begins to squirm. She reaches over to pat his bottom. “He feels wet, and not from rain. Time for a diaper change.”

“Belle?” He swallows, seizing his chance. “In the spirit of celebration, I’d like to show you something. Will you come upstairs with me?”

* * *

Rumplestiltskin’s clammy fingers slide against the doorknob. He manages to swing open the door long enough to guide Belle and Gideon inside, then drops his gaze to the plush white carpet. He thinks back to the Dark Castle, when he built and gifted Belle with the tower library, his insides quivering like jelly. It seems a lifetime ago, but the tension he feels now is exactly the same as it was then.

He chose the bedroom across the hall for Gideon’s nursery, an expansive space with enormous windows and lots of nooks for snuggling and reading and when he’s older, for playing hide-and-seek. He thinks it ideal for a growing boy. Will Belle think so, too?

She draws in a noisy breath, and he snaps his head up to gauge her reaction as she looks around. The room features blue walls, a stenciled border of chipped cups, and bookshelves teeming with toys, books, and games. A giant bunny rabbit with droopy ears stands sentinel in one corner, and the stuffed teddy bear Belle gave him rests at a tiny table and chairs for two, waiting for his playmate to arrive. The pièce de résistance is a carved walnut crib Marco made by hand, and draped over the side is a monogrammed blanket he spun himself on the wheel, snowy wool shot through with threads of pure gold.

Belle spins around to face him, her mouth open in an ‘O,’ her eyes glassy.  

“The mobile is stars and clouds,” he says, rubbing one of the shiny metal pieces between thumb and forefinger. “So he’ll never feel like he’s trapped inside. And I chose some children’s books, but left lots of space for the expert to work her magic.”

“It’s stunning,” she declares on a sob, then wraps her arms around him, Gideon nestled between them.

“But you’re crying.” He wipes tears from her cheeks with the pads of his thumbs as she fists a hand in his shirt, then dabs her cheeks with his pocket square. “Sweetheart, why? If you don’t like it, we can change anything you want. A different color? Maybe another room? A new house?”

She wheezes a laugh. “No! No, I love it, Rumple. There’s nothing in this room I would change. Well, except maybe Gideon’s diaper. He’s soaked.”

They chuckle together, then Belle lays their son across the changing table, hands hovering, gaze never straying from his tiny, perfect face as she slips him into a butter-soft sleeper and swaddles him in the new blanket. Her apprehensive gaze swings in the direction of the crib, and it dawns on him: after all they almost missed, she is reluctant to let their angel out of her sight for even a single moment.

Rumplestiltskin goes to the large walk-in closet and retrieves a bassinet. He curls his mouth up in a small, relieved smile. “I don’t want to miss a second either, my love.” He holds up the basket for her inspection. “So we can keep him in our bed for as long as we want, until we’re ready to use the nursery. The books call it co-sleeping…”

She cuts him off with a kiss, robbing him of breath. It is the first time their mouths have touched in months, and he is hungry for the taste of her lips, her delicate flavor of lavender and sugar coating his tongue. Their noses bump and her lips collide with his chin, but what they lack in finesse they more than make up for in enthusiasm. There will be time to romance his wife later, but right now, all he knows is sheer need.

Gideon exhales a whine of protest, and Belle eases back, her pupils wide and dreamy, her breath ragged with desire. “I think maybe I’m ready to use this crib now, maybe for an hour or two?” The sultry tone of her voice and her lusty smile send sparks of desire shooting through his body; his nerve endings sizzle with want.

Belle stares, transfixed, as Rumple gently takes Gideon out of her arms, letting her go just long enough to place their son in the crib and turn on the mobile. The tinkling notes of “Tale as Old as Time” ring out in a pure, sweet lullaby, and tears sting Belle’s eyes for what must be the hundredth time in this long, emotional day.

_Gods, how she loves this darling, romantic man._

“I couldn’t help it.” He shrugs, his smile sheepish.

“And why should you?” she asks, pulling him back into the circle of her arms. “It’s absolutely perfect.”

* * *

Holding each other close, they gaze down at their sleeping son, memorizing his sweet face as the mobile’s lullaby lulls him into dreamland.

When they are certain Gideon is asleep, they cross the hall to their own bedroom. They both glance at the guest room next door to the master suite, the one they pronounced Gideon’s room after Rumple restored his heart. Little time has elapsed since the Black Fairy’s curse, yet there’s a yearning pang for the young man with the sweet smile and troubled eyes. For only one night, he slept in that room, then traipsed into the kitchen the following morning and gobbled giant chocolate chip pancakes as fast as his papa could flip them. A twenty-eight-year-old man-child who held his mother’s hand and cried himself to sleep. They share a guilty, knowing smile, for in the blink of an eye that gangly boy will be back, and Rumplestiltskin and Belle will once more have a rebellious teenager on their hands. This time, however, the child will know love, not darkness.

They started sharing this bed again since the evening their son introduced himself in the shop, but until now they’ve done no more than trade comforting embraces. Tonight, however, expectation crackles in their bedroom like a live wire.

She putters around the room, gnawing her lower lip, and when he meets her gaze in the mirror, color blooms on her cheeks. He leans against the doorjamb, and she feels his scorching amber eyes on her as she hangs up her coat, switches on the bedside lamps, and turns down the sheets with trembling hands.

He removes his overcoat, then loosens his tie. The little patch of tanned skin at his exposed throat makes her mouth water, and she reaches for him, unable to wait any longer to reclaim him as her own. Pulling her closer, he nuzzles against her hair, the heat of his breath sinking to her scalp.

“It’s been so long,” she whispers as she presses small kisses to his neck, and his Adam’s apple bobs when she pushes against his chest, lowering him to the bed. “Missed you so much. Missed my husband.”

“My wife.” He breaks like a dam, raining fevered, reverent kisses across her chest, wetting the blouse until he can see the outline of her bra. Breath jagged, he lifts his mouth from her body and rakes her with uncertain eyes. “Are you sure you want this? Want me?”

“Yes, Rumple. I do.” She smiles as she caresses his jawline. “You know, most women have to wait at least six weeks after birth for this.” He lowers his head back to her chest, his large, dark hands beginning to pull her shirt from her skirt and slide along her skin. Her moan is low and blissful, and she lifts her chin to expose her neck to his nibbles and licks as he stands, sliding his front against her and pressing his mouth to her pulse point. “So glad I don’t need to.”

“Ah, Belle.” He groans, his mouth catching hers with a sensual greed that makes the down on her neck and arms rise. Garments drop to the floor bit by bit as he peels away her clothing and his, baring her breasts, hips, and belly to his adoration.

Instinct forces her arms around her waist, her hands splaying across her ravaged middle to hide herself. The fairies didn’t fix everything after their son was born, nor had she wanted them to. At the time she thought if she couldn’t be Gideon’s mother anymore, she at least wanted the scars of childbirth as a remembrance.

“I’m not…” She works her lower lip between her teeth, worried her husband will no longer like what he sees. Her once-smooth stomach now sports a tiny pucker of a tummy, and there are stretch marks across her hips and upper thighs. “Having Gideon changed me.”

“Of course it did.” His eyes are blown wide with desire and he grasps her wrists gently, kissing her hands before drawing them up the planes of his chest and winding her arms around his shoulders. “You’re a mother now, sweetheart.” He claims her lips again in a savage clash of teeth and tongues, then moves down her body. Belle gasps when he begins to kiss the milky web of lines gracing her abdomen.

She winces, wishing she’d thought to turn out the light so he can’t scrutinize her ugliness, but he is murmuring “beautiful, beautiful,” in a guttural litany against her hot flesh and she melts beneath his adroit, loving hands. She lets go, trusting him with everything, and gives herself over to pure sensation as he worships her body, mapping each tiny scar with reverent fingers and a skillful tongue.

When she is panting with need, he raises his head, his hands still stroking the damp skin of her belly. “These are your battle marks, my love, the proof of your sacrifice for Gideon.”

Emboldened, she kneels in front of him where he sits on the bed, then slides gentle fingers down his leg to wrap them around the foot he’d broken in the Ogres’ War. She smiles at him, savoring his look of love and awe, then peppers him with kisses from calf to toes. “And these are yours,” she replies. “Evidence of your sacrifice for Baelfire.” She moves back up the mattress to sit beside him and press one of his hands against her thundering heart.

There is a tremor in his fingertips as he whisks them along the underside of her breasts, cupping and lifting to tease the secret, sensitive flesh. Her breasts are heavy and full, aching for his caress, nipples ruching into tight, flushed peaks. She whimpers, reaching for him and tugging him to lay down on the bed with her. They settle onto the mattress with him between her legs, the cushion of her hips cradling his, the intimate pressure of their bodies as familiar and comforting as it is tantalizing.

He lowers his head to suck her nipple deep into his mouth, then freezes, staring at her chest in amazement. There beneath her breasts, his name is etched into her skin. His eyes burn, tears all but blurring his vision.

“What is this?” He blinks the tears out of his eyes to fall down his cheeks, desperate to see, and traces all fifteen letters of his name with his hands while more tears drip from his chin and pool in the tiny valley beneath her breastbone. He takes a shuddering breath. “How? When?”

“After you went to the Underworld.” She tugs at his hair, drawing his face to hers, her pupils dark with need, and kisses him fiercely with eyes wide open. “Names are powerful, meant for what matters most. Now I’ll always have your name inscribed on my heart. I love you, Rumplestiltskin.”

A sweet torture courses through him; how close he came to losing everything, how blessed he is to be a husband to this miraculous creature. He shifts his hips, gliding into her depths with a cry that is equal parts agony and joy, and hearing her answering cry is paradise, the feeling of being inside her like coming home after a long, arduous journey.

Belle wraps herself around him, flesh, bone, and sinew, and clings to him like a lifeline. He is so strong over her, so deliberate, filling her with heavy lunges, and the pleasure of their joining brands her soul. Never again will they be parted; never again will she doubt their love. Higher and higher they spiral, the light behind her eyes unspeakably bright, until she splinters into a million tiny pieces, rapture spilling and spreading.

Her pleasured screams echo in his ears as her body stiffens and convulses, then her strangled cry of his name sends him tumbling over the precipice. The breath hisses between his teeth as sweet release pulses through him, his arms curling around her, his face buried in her neck as their heartbeats race in unison.

* * *

Rumple rocks Gideon in the nursery, awakened in Belle’s arms by the sweet sound of coos and babbles. To and fro he sways in the chair he’d acquired from Maurice’s estate in Misthaven, the one Colette used to rock Belle in when she was a wee babe.

He left her fast asleep in their marriage bed, her wedding ring sparkling on her finger in the soft afterglow of their lovemaking. In three hundred years, Rumplestiltskin’s heart has only ever been this full twice before—on their wedding day and when Baelfire was born.

Baelfire. As Rumplestilstkin rocks, he recites his old favorite for Gideon, the same poem he whispered in the dark to his firstborn so long ago:

 _“Sleep weel, my bairnie, sleep._  
The lang, lang shadows creep,   
_The fairies play on the munelicht brae_  
_An' the stars are on the deep.”_

Gideon stares up at his papa, his eyes glittering in the dark, and he presses a kiss to his velvety head. “You’ve got your days and nights mixed up, don’t you, _bairn_?”

Once more his thoughts drift to Bae, and those sleepless nights walking him by the fire when he was colicky. The emptiness, the loss of his firstborn was still there, and always would be, but somehow pain has been edged out by peace.

“He has our eyes, huh?”

“Baelfire.” Rumple stops rocking and blinks in disbelief. There, leaning against Gideon’s crib is his beloved Bae, surrounded by a golden and blue shimmering hue. “How are you here?”

“Hey, Pop.” He gives a jaunty little wave. “I only have a little while, but I came to see you. And this little man.” He moves toward them in liquid strides, and offers his index finger for Gideon to curl his hand around. “He’s perfect, Pop. Congratulations.”

Rumplestiltskin can only stare wordlessly at both his children, relishing the sweet ache of what has been restored alongside a sadness for what cannot be.

Gideon notices the tension in his arms and whines in protest, and Gold wills himself to relax.

“It’s okay, Pop. I know you’re going to be a great father to him, just like you were to me.” Baelfire lays a hand on his quaking shoulder, his presence charging the air with a sleepy, otherworldy electricity.

“Son, I…”

Tears are falling in a torrent, raining down on Gideon’s swaddled form, one dropping onto the baby’s satin cheek. Bae brushes it away, his thumb leaving a glowing trail on his brother’s skin, like fireflies winking beneath a harvest moon. Against his will, Gold’s weepy eyelids begin to droop.

“Pop, I know,” Bae says, his voice rough with urgency. “I know how hard you worked to protect us. No, it didn’t seem like it at the time, and I gave you hell, but what you did, you did because you loved us. Me, Belle, and Gideon. And I saw what you did down in the mines tonight. You put your family first.”

Gold rubs his face, trying to concentrate on what Bae is saying, wanting nothing more than to gaze upon both of his beautiful boys for as long as possible, but eyes are so heavy.

“I have never been more proud of you. Proud to call you my father, to be your son. I’ll always be with you. Like a guardian angel, ya know?” Bae’s soft chuckle is low and charming. “But way cooler.” He shifts his attention to Gideon, stroking his pointy chin. There’s a teasing glint in his eyes when he says, “Take it easy, little bro. Don’t give Papa a hard time, yeah? He’s an old man.”

Gold laughs softly at the gentle, familiar ribbing.

“Oh, and Pop?”

“Yes?” Drowsiness is making him dizzy, and he feels like he is speaking under water.

Baelfire flashes his trademark dimpled grin as he fades from view. “I love you.”

“I love you, son.” Rumplestiltskin surrenders to the pull of sleep, and closes his eyes.

Soft fingers stroke the wetness from his cheeks. Expecting to see Bae, he startles, but there stands Belle in a long, white nightgown like the ones from her time at the Dark Castle, her hands clasped behind her back.

“I’m sorry to disturb you," she whispers. "I woke up, but you weren’t there. I missed you.”

“No, I’m sorry.” He sniffles and runs a hand through his hair. Their sleeping babe is still in his lap. “I didn’t want you to hear Gideon fuss. You need your rest.”

“We all do.” She leans forward, a tender smile lifting the edges of her mouth. “Do you have room for one more?”

“Of course.” He shifts Gideon to the crook of his arm, and she climbs into his lap.

Belle settles against his side and the chair falls into a soothing rhythm. He strokes her hair for long moments before he speaks. “Baelfire was here. I’m not sure if he was a dream or a specter, but he was here. He spoke to me.”

“Here to see his namesake, maybe?” She twists around to look at his face.

“What do you mean?”

She presses her lips together. “Gideon has a middle name—Baelfire. I would have asked your permission first, but under the circumstances…we can change it, Rumple. To anything you want.”

“Gideon Baelfire Gold.” He sucks in a breath. “Belle, it’s fine. More than fine. It’s wonderful. But why?”

She leans back against his chest. “Because Baelfire is more than part of this family and part of our story…he’s the glue that holds us all together. You, me, Emma, Regina, Henry…everyone. I don’t want that to ever be forgotten.

“I would like that, Belle.” He kisses her temple, his voice quavering. “I would like that very much.”

* * *

_Three Weeks Later_

Gold stares at the tapes at the sides of the diaper and moans in mock frustration at Gideon’s squirming body.

Belle is convinced he knows everything there ever was to know about babies and tells him so constantly, but it’s been hundreds of years since he bathed and cared for an infant, and he was still becoming accustomed to certain changes. The cloths and pins he’d used to diaper Baelfire were messy and required laundering, but they were so much easier to master. Rumple rips the tape again, his fingers slipping as he tries to keep the diaper in place with one hand, the other resting on his wriggling infant’s tummy. This plastic crap doesn’t hold a candle to quality fabric.

He glances down at his favorite blue pinstripe. “All right, son. We’re all going out tonight and Papa has just changed into a fresh suit, so don’t piss on me, ok?”

Gideon gurgles in reply, and Rumple drapes a wipe across his lower half and begins the onerous task of diapering yet again.

After ripping the tenth one, Rumple flicks it across the room, then diapers Gideon with a wave of his hand, the tapes locking into place with a satisfying snap.

“Well, that’s one way to do it,” Belle says, hovering in the doorway. She is breathtaking in a pale blue lace dress with cap sleeves that highlights her bright eyes and creamy complexion.

Gold glances at the pile of discarded diapers in the corner. “How long have you been there?”

“Long enough.” She crosses her arms over her chest, pretending to be annoyed, but the gleam in her eyes gives her away. “I’m impressed you lasted as long as you did.”

“I’m doing it for the planet. I keep reading about all the landfills in this realm. We’ll be up to our eyeballs in rubbish before our grandchildren are born.” He waves at the massive box of diapers. “How do you manage to change these things seventy-five times a day without breaking those little plastic things?”

She slants her eyes at him, a teasing glance. “You’re kidding, right?”

He chuckles, then lowers Gideon into his bouncy seat. “Yes, of course. Babysitting.”

“Right.” She slides her arms around his neck and kisses him, then nuzzles his cheek. “Do we really have to go to this dinner?”

“Not if you don’t want to, but I thought we were trying to be better about family gatherings.” He raises an eyebrow, a subtle reminder that making nice was her idea.

She sticks out her lower lip in an exaggerated pout. “Yes, but everyone’s going to be pawing at Gideon and I don’t want them breathing their germs on our baby.”

Gold laughs. “You remember the hex I taught you, right?”

“Of course.”

He hedges, happy to give in if she truly wants him to, but he knows his Belle too well. “If you want to stay home, I require next to no convincing. But you’ll regret it. And knowing Snow, she’ll keep calling until we answer the phone. No peace in this town. Six months in Hawaii is sounding better all the time.”

“Have I told you how incredibly sexy you are when you’re right?” she asks, attacking his tie and unbuttoning the top two buttons of his shirt.

“And by right you mean in perfect accord with you.” He huffs, pretended to be harangued.

“Smart and handsome.” She slides her hot little hands inside his vest.

“Minx,” he growls. “I just got dressed.”

“Hmm. All right, we’ll put in a brief appearance for Henry, and for Gideon’s sake. He’ll need a playmate someday, and young Neal will be a good fit.”

He shakes his head and rolls his eyes heavenward. “Playdates with the Charmings. What have our lives come to?”

“Families aren’t like fate,” she says with a smile. “They choose us, not the other way around.”

“So they do.”

 “Wait.” She places two fingers against his lips. “I have conditions.”

“A deal, eh? Now you’re speaking my language.” He kisses her palm, then brushes an errant curl off her forehead. “What did you have in mind?"

“Let’s go spend the afternoon in the shop before dinner? It’s been ages since we’ve dusted off your treasures, and I’m in the mood for a good story.”

Gold grins. Belle loves to pull random items from the pawnshop shelves and quiz him about their origins, uses, and how he acquired them in his numerous deals. It’s a game she never grows tired of playing and it gives him great pleasure to indulge her.

“You’re always in the mood for a good story, but I’m still not sure what I get out of this,” he grumbles as she smooths his tie back into place and adjusts the pin.

She blinks, then presses her lips to his ear. “If the evening goes according to plan, the master gets to chase his maid around this rather large estate.”

He swallows hard, the invitation in her eyes impossible to mistake.

“Let’s get Gideon ready and go. Hurry up now; it’s getting late.” He snaps his fingers and a fresh outfit appears on the changing table.

“What’s come over you?” She smothers a giggle.

He lifts her off her feet and whirls her around the nursery until she squeals in delight. She is his love, his light, his hope, and he will never let her go.

“I’ve just remembered I owe my wife a dance.”

 

_THE END IS ONLY THE BEGINNING_

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. I hope this story helps you to carry Rumbelle's Happy Beginning with you.


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